


We were young, once

by static_abyss



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 21:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2285379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana has known no one but King Uther Pendragon and his son for as long as she can remember. She knows she looks like her mother, has tried so many times to see her mother in the reflection that stares back at her from her mirrors. But all Morgana can see are green eyes that are too wide, hair that is too dark to match with Arthur's golden hair. She is pale, while Arthur glows, his skin golden with life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We were young, once

**Author's Note:**

> This was in my drafts as one of the earlier attempts at writing fic for delacour's [reverse bang prompt](http://i.imgur.com/ctqGt7Y.png). I opened it a while ago, edited it a bit, and decided to post this as well. I'm listing it as a one-shot, but I might come back and write another half to it.

Morgana's hair is shiny black, her eyes bright green, and her cheeks still hold the roundness of youth when Uther tells her she is to marry the future prince, Arthur. She has not yet experienced the harsh reality of life. She does not know what lies beyond the walls of Camelot, nor what is beneath the furs that men wear. She has not yet bled so that men may continue to rule.

She is, in her tenth summer, a young girl with innocence in her eyes and gentleness in her manners. Her smile is sincere. Her heart is true. Morgana loves King Uther and the future prince. She considers it the highest honor to be betrothed to the future king. She has no ambition beyond what King Uther wishes to give her.

There is a serving girl named Guinevere, who is more Morgana's friend than she is a serving girl. Gwen combs Morgana's hair every morning, helps Morgana dress, brings her food, cleans her trays. But Gwen also whispers secrets in Morgana's ears, discreetly elbows Morgana when Arthur happens to look at her. Gwen whispers about serving boys and wandering hands, of men who stare too long and want too fast. Guinevere is older than Morgana is, and therefore taller, her cheekbones sharper, her lovely dark skin shiny and smooth from a distance. 

It is only when Morgana and Gwen sit together in the shade of the castle steps that Morgana can see the callouses on Gwen's hands, the lines from too much sun and hard work. And yet, for a long time, Morgana is jealous of Gwen. 

It is not just that Guinevere is beautiful. Morgana does envy the curve of Gwen's hips, the slenderness of her waist, the cascade of curls, and the strength in her dark eyes. But Morgana envies the laughter between Gwen and her father more. She envies the flower Gwen sometimes has tucked behind her ear because Morgana saw Gwen's father give it to her that morning. She envies the stories Gwen tells of her mother, envies the way Guinevere remembers her mother, how she smiles even though her mother is dead because she has memories. 

Morgana has known no one but King Uther Pendragon and his son for as long as she can remember. She knows she looks like her mother, has tried so many times to see her mother in the reflection that stares back at her from her mirrors. But all Morgana can see are green eyes that are too wide, hair that is too dark to match with Arthur's golden hair. She is pale, while Arthur glows, his skin golden with life.

She and he have never been close before, and their public betrothal has done nothing to change that. But now that he is to become her husband, Morgana has started to look. She's often wondered, quietly to Gwen, what it is that she can offer the future king of Camelot. 

"I am an orphan," she whispers, as Gwen combs her hair out for bed. "He is a future king."

"You are the daughter of King Uther's closest friend, my lady," Gwen says. "Even if that were not so, your father's name is generations old. He is a legend. Quite frankly, the only suitable marriage for you is a prince."

Morgana looks down at her hands. She can hear Gwen's soft exhales, the hands working at her hair. 

"My father is dead," Morgana says, finally.

"You are King Uther's ward," Gwen chastises. "Your family line is pure. Prince Arthur should consider himself lucky to marry you."

"Gwen," Morgana gasps.

She sees Gwen's smile through the mirror in front of her, and Morgana returns it. They are quiet as Gwen turns down the bedcovers and arranges the pillows. Morgana tries not to think of the reflection staring at her back from the mirror. She knows nothing of power and lands. All her life has been filled with pretty girls waiting on her, of pretty women in court, of princess from other kingdoms. All Morgana knows is that Princess Mithian is prettier than her, older, a better match for Arthur. 

Gwen has tucked the covers under Morgana's chin by the time Morgana drags forth the courage to ask the question that has been burning in her mind since Gwen started whispering of boys. 

"Are you my friend?" Morgana asks. 

Gwen smiles at her as Gwen's hand comes up to stroke back Morgana's hair. "Of course," she says. 

Morgana feels relief at hearing that. She knows court. She grew up learning how to curtsy, how to smile, how to be sweet and polite. There were times when there were other girls there with Morgana. Morgana has played with the daughters of lords, has tried to sneak into the woods behind the castle with Arthur, back when Arthur was young enough to act like a boy. But never before this moment, has Morgana ever actually felt as if she's had a friend. 

"Thank you, Guinevere," she says. 

"No," Gwen says, taking Morgana's small hand in hers. "Thank _you_ for letting me be your friend."

"May I ask you a question?" Morgana says, her heart thumping in her chest as she considers how to phrase her question.

Gwen nods, her smile encouraging as she waits.

"What matter more?" Morgana asks. "Lands and titles or beauty?"

Gwen's smile is sad when she answers. "Lands and titles, my lady. But you needn't worry," she says. "You have both."

Morgana thinks back to the round cheeked girl with too-wide eyes, and a square face that stares out from her mirror. She thinks of Princess Mithian's brown hair that turns reddish gold in the sun, of Princess Elena's golden hair, of Lady Vivian's delicate features and her pretty smile. 

"I don't understand," Morgana says at last.

"You will," Guinevere says, as she smoothes down the bedcovers.

Morgana frowns, but Gwen winks, and Morgana believes her.

-

Uther dotes on her much like Gwen's father does on Gwen. It takes Morgana six winters to realize how indulgent Uther is, how he always saves a seat for her at his side during meals. He buys her pretty things to keep her happy, lets her go out into the gardens when she pleases. 

"Call me Uther," are the first words Morgana remembers from him.

She loves him for his kindness, for the way his blue eyes soften when he looks at her. She is thirteen winters old now, a child for a short time longer, but Uther is kind to her still. He lets her sit in his throne sometimes, though Morgana has had her own chair to his left ever since her betrothal to Arthur. 

If Morgana is quiet, Uther lets her hide behind the largest pillar in the council room and listen to what the men of court discuss. Arthur sitswith them at the council table. He also is silent, but unlike Morgana, he does not have to hide.

The first two times Uther allows Morgana to stay, she just stares at Arthur. She remembers his boyish face filled with laughter, streaks of dirt across his cheek, and happiness etched into every curve of his face. He is four years her senior, and the boyish face has long ago hardened into that of a man. He does not smile anymore, not in the presence of the council members, but afterwards, when he thinks it just him and Uther, Arthur's smile comes back.

At times like those, Morgana can remember the touch of soft fingers around her wrist and mischevious smiles as he convinced her to sneak out of the castle with him. They had little time together as children, but Morgana is glad that the laughter has not gone out of Arthur's face. He still shines golden to her when he laughs, the sharp angles of his cheekbones like woodwork made by the finest carpenters.

When Arthur leaves, Uther calls for her.

"You are to be his wife," Uther tells her. 

Morgana nods, her eyes turned down. She smoothes out her blue dress out of nervousness, fidgets with a strand of her black hair. In that moment, the jewels on her throat and the rings on her fingers feel almost too heavy. She does not say what she is thinking, does not dare to imply that the King made a mistake in choosing her as a bride for his son. 

"Arthur will be a good ruler," Uther goes on. "But I am afraid he has not yet learned what that means."

Morgana wants to defend Arthur, because she knows that wives are meant to defend their husbands. But this is Uther, her king, so she says nothing.

"Do you want to know why I chose you to be his wife?"

Morgana looks up from the stone floor. Uther is by the windows behind his throne. He stands tall, his yellow hair turning white in places. Even though he does not watch her, Morgana can feel his eyes on her. 

She dares not say a word.

"You are intelligent," Uther says, turning. "Far beyond Arthur was at your age. Your schoolmaster has told me that you showed an interest in reading."

Morgana blushes. Gwen had told her after that women are not supposed to bother with reading. It had been too late then, because Morgana has already asked her schoolmaster why he wasn't teaching her. She'd had no idea that Uther had heard of it, though if she thinks it through, she supposes there is very little Uther does not know about what happens within his castle. 

"I did not know," Morgana starts.

"Do not apologize," Uther interrupts. "I have asked your schoolmaster to teach you whatever it is you desire to learn."

"I…thank you," Morgana says dropping into a curtsy.

"There's no need to thank me,"Uther answers, his voice soft. "You are as dear to me as any child of mine. I would do anything to ensure your happiness. Yours and Arthur's."

"Of course," Morgana manages to says, her voice oddly loud in the large room.

"I chose you to be Arthur's wife because you hear what he does not. You saw that reading was in your best interest, and you asked to be taught. You showed great courage in speaking out to your schoolmaster, even though you knew it is I who tells him what to do."

Uther pauses, moves closer until he can raise Morgana's chin. When their eyes meet, he smiles at her, the comforting smile of a loving father. Morgana wishes she could ask him for a flower she could tuck behind her ear. 

"Listen, Morgana," Uther tells her. "Understand the real meaning beneath the words of the council memebers, so that when you become queen, you can help Arthur where he may fail."

Morgana looks for any indication that Uther is lying, but finds none. 

"I will listen," she promises. "I will learn."

-

At thirteen years and six months, Morgana learns that Uther Pendragon hates sorcery. She learns that, in Camelot, the practice of magic means death. She knows Arthur hates magic too because a sorcerer took his mother away from him when he was a baby. She knows that Uther loved hs wife, Ygraine, and that he has never forgiven the person who took her away from him.

At fourteen, Morgana learns that outside the walls of Camelot, people fear Uther Pendragon. She learns that the knights that stand guard at the the gates change so often because Uther still sends them out to search for the sorceress that killed his wife. Morgana learns that no man has been born who has won a war with Uther Pendragon.

-

When Morgana is fourteen years old, a sorceress comes to Camelot. Uther's men find her craddling her son in her arms. She is still muttering incantations when the guards bring her in front of Uther. Morgana is hiding behind the pillar just behind Uther's throne so she can see the women clearly.

The sorceress's clothes are little more than rags. Her eyes are sunken into her gaunt face, her arms stick thin. She is little more than skin over bones, her hair thin and falling. When the woman begs Uther to spare her son's life, Uther sentences him to death first. 

Arthur may say he hates magic as much as his father does, but Morgana recognizes doubt in Arthur's face. Morgana never sees the burning, but she sees Arthur and Uther afterwards. She can see the horror in Arthur's eyes, his confusion. He knows better than to quesiton his father, and she and Arthur are no longer close enough to speak of these things. But Morgana sees Uther as well, and she understands more than Arthur does. 

She knows that Uther burns sorcerers and sorceresses, because he fears them.

-

Morgana does not hate magic. At fourteen, she understands that in order for her to have an opinion about someone, she must at least talk to them. It is why she has very few opinions about Arthur and the other knights and lords that visit. By now too, she has come to understand that whatever the people's opinion, the man with the largest army always wins. 

By the time Arthur's coronation as Crowned Prince of Camelot rolls around mid-summer, Morgana has heard enough from the council meetings to understand how the kingdom runs. She knows Gaius used to perform magic and Uther still forgave him. She learns that Gauis ensured his freedom by putting others in his place. She does not think he is a coward. She thinks him a survivor.

She knows who the coin master is, who is the best strategist. She learns that Lord Agravaine is Ygraine's brother, but that he has little love for Uther. She does not fully understand what it is about Agravaine's eyes that makes her uncomfortable, but she does not like him. She likes it even less when Arthur starts to spend most of his time under Agravaine's watchful eye.

Morgana understands that during war, the people must suffer. She understands that food means more than gold during a long battle. She knows where the other kingdoms are rleative to Camelot, and she can list them in order of largest to smallest army. She knows that her father was the greatest lord in Uther Pendragon's court, that her father died in battle serving Camelot.

And at fourteen, mid-summer, she notices the way men look at her.

Gwen dresses her in a green gown for Arthur's coronation, combs her hair until Morgana's ringlets shine. When Gwen is finished and Morgana stands in front of her full-length mirror, she does not recognize the person looking back at her.

Morgana still has the child-like roundness to her cheeks, but she has grown taller, her face just a bit longer so that her eyes do not seem as though they will fall out of her face. There are hints of curves to her hips and the beginning swell of breasts that serve to highlight her slender waist. She does not look like Guinevere does, nor do the eyes of men follow her the way they do Gwen, but Morgana can see the promise of beauty.

When she walks out into the banquet hall and sees the way Arthur's eyes linger on her, she knows he sees it too.

-

She is in her fifteenth summer when her first blood comes. 

Guinevere is with her to explain what is happening. "It is normal," Gwen says. "It means that you are healthy and young, and that you can bear children."

Morgana knows what that means and, though it is a badge she should wear with honor, she is afraid. She knows what children mean, understands that it will fall to her to raise the children with the help of Gwen and the other serving women. Morgana is young. To her, children mean that she will be nothing more than a decoration at Arthur's side, and Morgana knows she was not made to be a decoration.

-

In the winter, on her sixteenth birthday feast, Arthur asks her to dance.

Morgana stands, the light material of her burgundy dress seeming to float behind her. Morgana knows to take long steps and hold her head high so that the jewels on her neck catch the candlelight. Gwen helped her pick the dress out, and when Morgana looked into the mirror, she was happy with who she saw.

The roundness of her cheeks is gone. There are the beginnings of sharp edges to her cheekbones, definition to her hips and breasts. Morgana knows that the color of her dress emphasizes the paleness of her skin, and that her eyes seem to be at their brightest green. 

"You look beautiful," Arthur tells her. 

It is the first time he has done so.

"Thank you," Morgana answers.

Arthur smiles at her, and she can see him trying not to laugh. It stirs some of their old rivalry, and Morgana finds herself thinking of when they were children. He has always been keen to prove himself, not just to his father. She can remember well the number of times Gaius, their physician, scolded Arthur for falling out of trees. Morgana has never liked losing, but she knew what her limits were. 

Now, Arthur is in his twentieth year, his shoulders broad from practicing with his knights. There are callouses on his large palm, but his hands are gentle as he guides her to the middle of the room. The black leather of his boots reminds her that he is a man made for hunting in the woods. The red of his shirt reminds her that his hands have wielded swords against his enemies. She can almost see the blood running down his face, wonders whether it would smell like the room in the kitchens where the boys kill the boars for meat. 

When she looks up, his blue eyes are kind. The golden circlet on his head catches the candlelight, setting a halo on his golden head. It seems fitting that he shine so brightly, Morgana thinks. He was born in the summer after all.

"We have not spoken in a long time," Arthur says.

Morgana can't hold her back her smile when his left hand moves restlessly along her back. Arthur frowns and stills his hand on her upper back, the warmth of his hand seeping beneath the fabric of Morgana's dress. 

"You think me a child," she says, her own hand settling on Arthur's shoulders.

He guides her into the dance, just a small press of his hand enough for Morgana to know which way to move. Morgana stops paying attention to the steps, her eyes focused on Arthur as he thinks of a way to answer her. 

"I don’t think you a child," Arthur protests. "We've just had different interests these past few years."

"We are both at this court," Morgana tells him. "I'm sure we could have found something to talk about."

"Could we?" Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow at her. 

Morgana catches the smile on his face before he can hide it. She is pleased that she can make him smile.

"Yes," she tells him.

"Let us talk then," Arthur says. "Tomorrow. In the gardens, before practice."

"All right," Morgana says, indulging him and smiling. 

The dance ends soon after, but Arthur does not leave her side that night. He sits beside her at their table, even though it means he cannot sit next to his father. Uther for his part looks pleased that they are getting along. Morgana can feel the court's eyes on her even as Arthur leans in closer to whisper something about Sir Leon's sword skills.

She shifts in her seat so that she's facing Arthur better. Her hand rests on top of his, and she nods at him to continue.

Morgana learns that Arthur knows all of his knights by name, that they are like brothers to him. She learns that Arthur smells like the waxy soap Gwen brings Morgana for her bath, that he prefers mead to wine, and that he has met the people that live beyond the walls of Camelot.

"I will take you riding, one day," Arthur promises. "To the woods."

"Do you remember?" Morgana asks. "How we tried to sneak out when we were younger?"

Arthur laughs. "The kitchen boy caught us," he says, nodding. "Of course, I remember. Do you remember the bouquet of flowers I would bring you every morning?"

"You never did," Morgana says, narrowing her eyes at him.

"You're right," he whispers, his eyes following the path from Morgana's hand, to her shoulder, and her eyes. 

"I suppose," Arthur goes on, ducking his head so that it rests closer to Morgana's dark curls. "I suppose it's past time I fix that."

-

The next morning, Morgana wakes to Gwen arranging a bouquet of wild flowers on a vase by the window in front of Morgana's bed.

"From Arthur," Gwen says, and Morgana doesn't even try to hide her answering smile.

-

Morgana remembers bits and pieces of her seventeenth birthday. She remembers that food was scarce during the winter. She knows that Uther stopped letting her come to the council meetings, that he got quieter the longer the winter lasted. 

"He does not mean to be distant," Arthur assures her, when Morgana asks after Uther. "He just has a lot on his mind."

"Like the war with King Lot?" Morgana asks.

Arthur says nothing, and Morgana knows she's right.

"Who told you that?" Arthur asks.

"I have my ways of getting information," she says.

They are in the castle gardens, ice crunching under Morgana's boots. The fur on her cloak keeps her warm, and Arthur's hand in hers makes up for the lack of gloves. He is wearing his red cloak over his chainmail, his sword, Excalibur, hanging from his belt.

"They say it was forged from dragon's breath," Arthur had said when he first showed it to her.

Morgana knows that she can balance the sword perfectly at the beginning of the hilt. She knows that it was Arthur's manservant, Merlin, and not Uther, who gave Arthur the sword. Morgana knows that Merlin is hiding something, but he is kind, and when she looks at him, she is not afraid.

"Do you think there will be another war?" Morgana asks.

Arthur lets their hands swing between them as they walk. He says nothing until they get to the wall surrounding the castle. They stand underneath the high, stone walls, a few bare trees to their left barely peeking over the castle wall. 

"Do you want to know the truth?" Arthur asks, finally.

"Of course," Morgana answers.

He nods, his face solemn. She's noticed that at times of crisis, he wears the blank mask of a king. His eyes give him away, but Morgana has never had the heart to tell him that he gives too much away. She likes that despite whatever cold exterior Arthur is using, Morgana can always see the truth in his blue eyes.

"King Lot has a sorceress fighting on his side. She is bewitching the other kings so that they fight with King Lot. Father is worried—"

"—that we won't be strong enough to hold them back," Morgana finishes for him.

Arthur nods. "They have magic on their side, Morgana."

Morgana squeezes Arthur's hand, moves closer into his side. The wind howls around them, picking up the loose snow and swirling it above Morgana's head. She swears that she can hear the sounds of hundreds of steps marching on the gates of Camelot. Her grip on Arthur's hand tightens, and Arthur wastes no time in pulling her into a hug.

His chest is warm against her, his arms and cloak protecting her from the wind at her back. She rests her head against his shoulder, her own hands around his waist, fingers brushing against Excalibur.

"Will you teach me to fight?" she asks.

"You won't have to," Arthur says immediately. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Morgana shakes her head and pulls away from him. "I need to know that I can protect myself," she says.

Arthur shakes his head, but Morgana reaches up, her palm against his cheek. She traces his cheekbones, her thumbs just brushing the edges of his mouth. She wonders what he sees that makes his eyes go round with surprise, what the look on her face is that makes his gaze soften.

"I need to be able to defend myself," she whispers into the space between their mouths.

Arthur leans forward, and for a moment, Morgana thinks he might kiss her, but he just leans his forehead against hers. His hair is soft underneath her cold fingers, his gaze stirring something large and warm within Morgana's chest.

"All right," Arthur says. "I will teach you."

"Thank you," she says.

-

Arthur is true to his word.

The next morning, before training with his knights, he takes Gwen and Morgana to the yard in front of the kitchens. He teaches Morgana the proper way to hold a sword, how to stand so that she's a smaller target. Arthur is patient with her, and he does not say no when Gwen asks if she can learn too.

It's frustrating for the first few weeks, because Morgana can do little more than lift the sword above her head. The weakness in her arms frustrates her, even more so when she sees that Gwen is able to practice thrusts before Morgana can. 

But there is a war coming, Morgana knows. She has seen the beginnings of preparation to invite all the prominent lords and ladies of the land. Uther has asked Morgana to entertain the ladies who are to come, to speak to them, and see if she can convince them to speak on Uther's behalf to their husbands.

"I trust you," Uther had said, when he pulled Morgana aside. "You know how to present our cause in a favorable light."

Morgana knows that Uther asked the same thing of Arthur. She knows that she is to smile and curtsy, to be polite and pleasant to everyone who walks in through their doors. She is to represent Uther every minute of the day, to plead for their help without letting the other kings and lords know that the war with Lot might be the first Uther loses.

Morgana trains twice as hard after that. She practices the exercises Arthur taught her when she can get a moment to herself. Slowly, as the weeks go by, she gets better. Her steps are lighter, surer, her sword thrusts strong and true. She succeeds at disarming Arthur five months after they start training.

"Lucky blow," Arthur says as soon as it happens.

His manservant, Merlin, is with them today. He laughs, and Morgana grins at him when Arthur shoots the boy a glare. Morgana has not spoken to the boy much, but Gwen likes him and Arthur trusts Merlin enough to let him in on Morgana and Gwen's training sessions. The boy never joins in when he does come. He always sits close by, watches Morgana and Gwen.

"I beat you," Morgana tells Arthur. "In another month, I'll be better than you."

"I highly doubt that," Arthur says. "But you're not completely useless."

Morgana smirks. "Oh," she says, raising an eyebrow. "You don't think I can be better than you?"

"I've been training for almost as long as I could walk," Arthur tells her. "By practice alone, I can beat you."

"Fair enough," Morgana says. "It's not you I need to worry about, in any case."

"Morgana," Arthur starts.

"No, Arthur," she says. "Everyone knows there's a war coming. You and I both know that the reason there's been so little food is because Uther is storing food for his army. There _is_ going to be a war."

"That's not for you to worry about—" Arthur starts, anger beginning to creep into his voice.

_Good_ , Morgana thinks. Better that Arthur be angry than patronizing. 

"Who should worry then?" Morgana snaps. "Are you telling me that if there is a war, Lot won't storm this castle and kill everyone in it? Do you really expect me to believe that if we lose, nothing will happen to me? To Uther? To you? To Gwen?"

"That's not what I meant."

Morgana shakes her head. "I am _not_ an idiot. I understand more than you do how things work in Camelot. I _know_ what this war means. I know what happens if Uther does not get the support he needs. _He has magic, Arthur_."

Morgana does not miss the way Merlin flinches. She is distracted from Arthur's angry face, as she looks over at Merlin sitting behind Arthur and to Morgana's left. Merlin's green eyes are wide, his body stock still as Morgana looks at him. 

"What?" Arthur asks, when Morgana says nothing.

She can see Merlin shaking his head just before Arthur turns to look at what Morgana is staring at.

"What?" Arthur asks again.

"Nothing," Morgana says, averting her eyes. "I thought I saw someone coming out of the kitchens."

Arthur frowns, but Morgana knows he doesn't want her to start yelling at him again, so he says nothing. 

"We should go back inside," Arthur says.

Merlin jumps up and starts moving to gather the swords. Arthur sets off as soon as Merlin takes his sword, but Morgana lingers. 

"You have magic," she whispers, when Merlin makes to take the sword from her hands.

Merlin says nothing, but Morgana sees the way his hands shake when he takes the sword from her hand. He catches himself, but his body is too still, his shoulders tense when he's always been relaxed around Morgana.

"I won't tell," she says, immediately. "You have my word." 

She does not know why she makes that promise, nor why it feels right to keep this secret. It never occurs to her that she too might one day need someone to keep her secret.

-

When she is eighteen years old, the dreams start.

Gaius gives her a sleeping draught, but all it does is make the nightmares more vivid. Morgana can see Lot's army marching into Camelot. She sees Uther's body hung from the tree just outside the walls. In her dreams, Gwen is beaten and broken. Her beautiful skin turns blue-black with bruises. Her eyes are bloodshot, her hair limp and dirty. In Morgana's dreams, Merlin is not strong enough to fight Morgause.

In Morgana's dreams, everybody dies.

-

When Morgana is nineteen, the war starts.


End file.
